


Here I Go Again, Singing At Your Window

by thefairfleming



Category: The White Princess (TV)
Genre: F/M, Garden Club AU because WHY NOT??, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-05-24
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10992750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefairfleming/pseuds/thefairfleming
Summary: The first time was all the aphids’ fault.





	Here I Go Again, Singing At Your Window

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rumaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rumaan/gifts).



> Based on the following prompt from Daily AU: Our moms belong to the same garden club and are fiercely competitive about their gardens and keep sending us to pick up supplies for them and would have matching heart attacks if they found out we’re hooking up every trip AU.

The first time was all the aphids’ fault.

That’s what Lizzie told  herself afterwards at least because it feels better to blame what happened on a bunch of marauding insects than her own hormones. She doesn’t even  _ like _ Henry Tudor, but he’d been there at her mum’s garden club meeting with  _ his _ mum, and when Lizzie’s aunt Eliza had fretted about her prize begonias under siege by aphids, Lizzie’s mum had asked her to run up to the plant nursery to fetch a certain blend of essential oils she’d concocted. 

“Just the thing,” she’d assured Eliza before adding to Lizzie, “Maggie will know where I keep it.”

Margaret, Henry’s mum, had sniffed at that. “Essential oils. Perhaps you’d like to ask the moon to bless the plants as well, Elizabeth? Pray to the goddess of creepy-crawlies? No, Henry, go with Lizzie to the nursery and pick up that pesticide I used on the back garden last week.” 

Henry had been lurking at the back of the room, awkwardly holding a cup of tea, and Lizzie had seen the way he grimaced, his eyes flicking briefly to her. She’d given him a sickly sweet smile in return, just to annoy him.

It had worked, apparently, because they’d spent the drive there in silence, the only words spoken Henry’s terse, “Could you not?” as Lizzie had scanned through radio stations, and after that, she’d flicked the radio off altogether, determined to make the ride as unpleasant for him as it was for her.

They’d arrived at the plant nursery and fetched the things their mothers had sent them for, Lizzie’s cousin Maggie smiling nervously at the pair of them as they’d checked out.

“Poison,” Lizzie had sniffed at Henry’s containers of insecticide.

He’d shot her a look, but when she went to take the essential oil mix from Maggie- without paying, of course, they were family- Henry had wiggled his fingers at the counter, eyebrows raised.

“Potions,” he’d said, and something about it made Lizzie laugh in spite of herself. And when they’d taken their purchases back to his jeep and he’d lifted the gallons of pesticide into the back, the way his biceps had moved underneath the sleeves of his grey t-shirt had been...interesting.

_ He _ was interesting. A little sullen, maybe, and nothing like the boys she was used to, but then Lizzie really  _ liked  _  boys, and there was no denying he was an intriguing specimen. Tall and lean with those pretty blue eyes, Henry had also gone to university in France, which made him feel….different, somehow. Like maybe he wasn’t as interested in football and shooting and all the other boring shit the men Lizzie knew were into.

But the kiss had just been to fuck with him. She was sure of that. He’d pulled back into the driveway of the little tea room and cafe where their mothers held their weekly garden club gatherings, and as soon as the jeep was in park, she’d leaned over, murmured, “Thanks for the ride,” and planted her mouth firmly on his.

Not because she was curious. Not because of his wide shoulders in that t-shirt, or his narrow waist in his faded jeans, not because of that brief flash of sardonic humor at the register. Just...because she felt like it. Because she wanted to rattle him a bit.

And she had.

His eyes had been wide when she’d pulled back, flashed him a grin, and slid out of the jeep.

So yeah, totally on the aphids, that first kiss.

Then the next week, they’d both shown up at the garden club meeting, and if Lizzie had worn her favorite sundress, so what? And if Henry had been wearing a white button-down instead of his usual t-shirts, she’d hardly noticed. Just like she hadn’t jumped when her mother had said, “There’s the perfect pot for this bunch of rosemary back at the nursery.”

“I’ll get it!” Lizzie had said, almost before she could think, and then Henry had been there, keys dangling from his long fingers.

“I’ll drive,” he’d said.

They’d kissed before they’d even made it to the nursery then, Henry pulling over about a mile from the tea room, Lizzie scrambling into his lap as soon as the jeep was in park.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” she’d told him, even as she’d pushed the strap of her dress down, guiding his hand inside.

“I wouldn’t presume,” Henry had replied, as though his thumb  _ weren’t _ brushing over her nipple, and Lizzie had rolled her eyes before kissing him again.

And then it had just...kept happening. Every week, they both went to their mothers’ garden club, and every week, there was some new thing that needed to be fetched, some new weapon in Elizabeth and Margaret’s escalating War of the Literal Roses. Which meant that every week, there was kissing in her car, some handsiness in the back of Henry’s jeep, and now, his hand in her knickers in the greenhouse of her cousin’s nursery.

“This is so stupid,” Henry murmurs against her neck, but his fingers are still moving, and Lizzie clutches his wrist, holding him in place.

“This one has a buzzer at the door,” she pants, tilting her hips into his touch. “Because of the orchids.”

She’d picked this greenhouse on purpose because of that. No chance of being surprised as she perches on the edge of a potting table, rounding third base with the son of her mother’s sworn Garden Club Nemesis.

Henry pulls back a little, eyebrow arched. “Orchids?” he asks, the gives her that sly grin she’s growing to like. “There’s a dirty joke in there somewhere, but I’m too bloody turned on to think of it right now.”

Laughing, Lizzie pulls him back in for another kiss. Their mothers would die if they knew how she and Henry were using these trips, but as Henry’s fingers move against her, as he chuckles against her neck, his breath warm, his beard tickling, she can’t really bring herself to care. 


End file.
